Dorothy found there was another cup of the beverage, still warm in the little teapot, and this she poured into her own pink and white china cup for Mrs. Pangborn.
Miss Higley remained standing, seemingly too abashed to move.
“Do finish yours,” said Tavia, pushing the empty chair toward the embarrassed teacher.
But Tavia’s mirth showed through her alleged illness, and Miss Higley began to feel that she had been imposed upon.
“If you—if you will excuse me,” she stammered.
“Oh, do finish your tea,” begged Mrs. Pangborn, and so the severe little teacher was obliged to sit down again.
An hour later Tavia was still trying to “untwist her kinks,” as she described her attacks of muffled laughter.
“Oh, wasn’t it gloriotious!” she exclaimed. “To think I couldn’t get a single twinge in my entire system! If I only could put that sort of a cramp in alcohol, wouldn’t it be an heirloom to Glenwood!”
“Please do stop,” pleaded Dorothy, from under her quilt. “The next time they may bring a doctor and a stomach pump, and if you don’t let me go to sleep I do believe I will call her.”
“You dare to and I’ll get something dreadfully contagious, so you will have to be disinfected and isolated. But Higley the terrible! The abused little squinty-eyed tattle-tale! Oh, when Mrs. Pangborn said she was glad to see her enjoying herself! That persecuted saint enjoying herself! Didn’t she look the part?”